


Thanatosis

by FreshBrains



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: pbam, Crossover, F/M, POV Gogo Yubari, Porn Battle, Post-Kill Bill, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Villains, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: “I am not a team player,” Gogo whispers, stomach clenching as she rides the curl of his fingers.“Nor am I,” the Fox murmurs, tongue flicking out to lick at the shell of her ear like a serpent’s tongue. “But I can make exceptions.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Porn Battle Amnesty Prompt Stack 2 prompts: animals, bite, lick, resurrection, revive, rub, skirt, team.
> 
> Gogo is well into adulthood in this fic, so no underage. Takes place after _Kill Bill_ film canon and sometime after _Avengers_ (2012) events.

“My little opossum,” the man says when he sits down next to Gogo, voice rich as honey, his Japanese curt but smooth off a non-native tongue. “We meet at last.”

Gogo offers him a sideways glance through a fallen strand of dark hair. When she was a girl, she’d peer up at men through the thick curtain of it, let them see her shy little glances, but she is a girl no longer. “So we do, my Fox.”

The man laughs, and he is unfortunately quite handsome—tall and sharp-boned with jet black hair and steely eyes, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark green coat. He’s not the kind of man who would not go unnoticed for long.

“You’ve come in unseen,” Gogo says. “Unseen and looking for a frightened rabbit.” She turns to him. “Please order me a drink. I have no patience for silly boys tonight.”

“You’ve _changed_ ,” the Fox says, oozing with charm. He has a drink set out in front of her before she even realizes he’d gotten the bartender’s attention. “I thought you enjoyed putting men out of their misery.”

“Children’s games,” Gogo scoffs, though she _is_ in another bar surrounded by another gaggle of tired businessmen, eyes scanning the room for softness and weakness. “Now, what can I help you with?” There are always men and women coming to her in bars, asking her for her help, asking her to join them in their private battles. She will do battle, again and again, with tooth and claw, but she fights for her own now. Her loyalties died long ago.

“Do you know why I called you an opossum? Why that animal, and not a leopard, or lioness, or phoenix?” There’s a smoky scent about him, a shimmer to his demeanor, and when Gogo looks around the bar, she realizes nobody can see them. He’s hidden them under _something_ , kept them away from prying eyes. This is a game Gogo can play. When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “Opossums are known for playing dead. Once their enemy grows bored, they spring back to life, unharmed and ready for the next adventure.”

“An easy skill,” Gogo says tartly, and when the Fox reaches out to drag a cool finger down her neck, she allows it. This is no fumbling man hoping for a tight fuck—this is someone who will cross swords with her, who will meet her on the front lines.

“For a short time,” the Fox says. “But you, sweetling, have revived yourself again and again. Always returning, always ready for another fight. Nobody ever sees such a pretty thing coming.” At this, he runs a hand down the length of her thigh, fingers playing at the hem of her skirt—something casual and professional, the kind of skirt a young businesswoman would wear to the bar after work. “Tell me. How many times have to lain in a pool of blood and waited to resurrect yourself?”

“Like I said,” Gogo grits out, “it is an easy skill.” After the first time she did it, crying blood under her mistress’ distress, it only became easier. Everyone expects little girls to fall at the flick of a hand. They don’t expect them to play games, to come back for more. Her mistress knew, but not even the white woman could tell that she had not truly befallen Gogo Yubari.

She spreads her knees just a fraction, inviting him closer, beckoning him with the heat between her legs. The man licks his lips, his pupils dark. “I am assembling a team,” he says, tone low and conversational, and he traces the rim of his glass with one long finger. With his other hand, he smooths a palm up her leg until his fingers trace her labia, seeking permission. “A team of exceptional people who have gallons and gallons of blood on their hands.”

With that, she blooms around his touch like a wet flower, squirming forward so his fingers slide into her cunt. He sighs, eyes going glassy with pleasure. She doesn’t look down to see if he’s hard because she doesn’t _care_. She leans in until her lips graze the shell of his ear.

“Once, my mistress gave me a good bit of advice. I did not understand it then, but I understand it now,” she says. With deft fingers, she removes a ring dagger from the pocket of her jacket. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Tell me,” the Fox says.

“Tricks are for kids,” Gogo hisses, and drives her little blade swiftly into the Fox’s gut, right between the two gold buttons of his coat. His fingers freeze, still buried in the heat of her cunt, and his pained rigidity only gives her a hard surface to rub herself off against. He bleeds, letting it drip from his mouth and onto her jacket. And _oh_ , his smile—the red seeps beautifully through white teeth. His breath is steady and strong—further proof he is not as human as his shape. She uses all her strength to drive the dagger horizontally across the man’s stomach, wanting to disembowel him, wanting to see his lifeblood spill across the bar floor—wants to see if it is really _blood_ keeping him alive. And he _bleeds_ , red and rich, but the wound remains superficial.

“This is not a trick,” the Fox says. His wrist tugs at the hem of her skirt as he curls his fingers, bringing an arc of hot, shivery pleasure up her spine. He _begs_ to touch her, to bring her off, even as his blood drips down their bodies. “Come and fight with me, opossum. There is more victory to be had by my side.” His breath, coppery and warm, fans across her face, and she cries out, dropping the dagger onto the floor. She grapples for him with one hand, tangling her fingers in his dark hair, and he understands; he surges forward and sinks his sharp teeth into the curve of her neck and she comes, toes grinding into the soles of her shoes.

“I am not a team player,” Gogo whispers, stomach clenching as she rides the curl of his fingers. He presses the heel of his free hand against the lap of her skirt, seeking her swollen clitoris, rubbing it expertly with shaking fingers. He smears blood across the grey linen, ruining it, ruining _her_.

She comes again, whining softly with it, knees weakening as the dripping blood slows, then stops. When he slides his fingers out of her, he does it with slow care, like she is something to be gentled. “Nor am I,” the Fox murmurs, tongue flicking out to lick at the shell of her ear like a serpent’s tongue. “But I can make exceptions.”

Gogo is plotting her next move—finger hooked in the eye, heel to his instep—when there’s a gentle huff of breath against the back of her neck and he is _gone_ , off into the night, leaving her slumped against the bar stool like she’s had one too many cocktails. Her skirt is clean; the blood on the floor and on her skin is gone like it never was. But her cunt aches and her thighs are sticky from her own release.

_This is not a trick_ , she repeats in her mind. Her dagger is still in her pocket.

He is gone, but Gogo thinks she may be able to find him again.


End file.
